


Soothe Your Burning Heart

by Bittodeath



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mandalorian Anakin Skywalker, Mandalorian Culture, Marriage, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Skippable Smut, Therapy, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: Early after Anakin's Knighting, he falls through a hole in the fabric of time and space... and ends up on Korda 6, in time to keep Mand'alor Jaster Mereel from death.Stranded away from all he ever knew, not knowing who to trust, and grieving the loss of friends left behind, Anakin gets taken in by Jaster Mereel. What he didn't expect was to fall in love with a Jango Fett just as equally entranced...
Relationships: Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett/Anakin Skywalker, Jaster Mereel & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 67
Kudos: 202





	1. Crash & Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be **_very sporadic_** as I apparently have no self control and started not only writing this, but also posting it, despite all my other WIPs cooking.  
> A few notes before we start:  
> \- I will make all smut skippable, but if you do read it, those chapters will be E rated.  
> \- there is referenced paedophilia concerning Anakin. The heaviest of it is in this chapter, as it is, specifically, Montross who abused him. It will be referenced also later, but not as heavily, when sex will come up between Anakin and Jango.  
> \- Jango is sixteen when this starts and I don't know yet when things will get heated between him and Anakin, who is slightly older. Given their ages, it could be before Jango is eighteen. I tagged underage pre-emptively, but depending on how things turn out, I might take off the warning.  
> \- there will be minor OC characters for the True Mandalorians, since we don't know many of them. Some you'll recognize, if you read Deliver Us...  
> \- Memory is one of my clone OCs.  
> \- For Anakin, this happens after Jabiim and rescuing Obi-Wan from Rattatak, but before Christophsis.

“Stay close to me, Memory!” Anakin grunted in his comm as he weaved his ship through the barrage of fire.

He and his squadron of clone troopers had been lured into a trap while escorting the _Negotiator_ , and away from it. His squadron of pilots had been decimated, only Memory remained, and Anakin gritted his teeth.

“Following you, sir”, Memory replied, and he did.  
His instruments blared a warning, as did the Force, but he was going too fast, Memory on his tail. He couldn’t avoid the anomaly, and his Aethersprite flew right into it. Memory’s ship followed, and for a second, he felt an immense pressure, his ears popping, the Force making a shrill sound in his mind that made him want to scrape his brain off. He didn’t realize he was screaming until he’d stopped, his hearing returning, along with Memory’s voice.

“-ir? Sir what happened? Engine failure, sir, do you copy?”  
“I hear you”, Anakin said, immediately trying to take control back from his ship – nothing worked, and he could see a planet that hadn’t been there before coming onto them _way_ too fast.

They were going to crash. Looking outside briefly, he noticed that R2 was fuming heavily.

“The landing is gonna be rough”, he warned.  
“We’re gonna be flattened, sir”, Memory replied, his voice tight.  
“I’ll try to slow us down with the Force”, Anakin said, focusing as their ship free-fell through atmosphere, the hull turning burning hot with the friction.

There was a plain and Anakin focused to get them there, slightly directing their burning ships and doing his best to hold them together. The silence was eerie when nothing worked, only Memory’s sharp breaths in his comms.

“Sir”, the clone gulped, “it was an honour serving with you.”

His heart tightened, rage and powerlessness gripping him.

“We’re not dead yet”, Anakin retorted. “We’re not dead yet. Hang on.”

He was pretty sure it was his nose he could feel bleeding, and his hearing and visions had gone hazy with the effort. He closed his eyes. Ten seconds before impact. Nine. Eight. He reached out to Memory’s presence in the Force, a bright light, warm and gentle.

The impact rattled everything, his brain included, and then there was nothing more.

*

There is no one to witness the two ships burning through the atmosphere of Korda 6, nor their heavy crash in a stripe of grassy land. There is no one to witness the sharp, powerful, bright light of a new Force Presence suddenly appearing in the Force.

*

When Anakin comes to, his head is throbbing, his whole body hurting, his head still ringing with the shock. He groans, straightens up slightly. Reaches for the Force, feels it burn at his contact and retreats with a hiss. He clumsily slams his palm down on the button that will eject his cockpit cover and let him out. His Aethersprite is a complete mess, it is a miracle he is even alive. R2 didn’t have that chance, and his heart clenches when he sees what remains of the burnt droid. Scanning his surroundings, he quickly finds Memory’s ship and limps to it as quickly as he can.

He can still feel his Force-presence, but it is dim and weak. His hands trembling, he scrambles to get him out of the destroyed bits of metals that once were his ship, and drags him out of the mess before falling to his knees beside him and taking his helmet off. Memory blinks slowly, blood coating his face, Anakin gently takes his face between his hands. He isn’t very good at healing, and he doesn’t know where to start. He doubts he can do anything, in fact.

“Mem’ry?” he mumbles, his mouth not working as it should – there is pain lancing in his head, making it hard to focus.

He can feel Memory’s fear bleeding into the Force, and holds on tighter. He almost starts to recite the Code to comfort the trooper, but- It wouldn’t comfort him, and Memory isn’t a Jedi. Swallowing back his tears, he starts to whisper a blessing he learnt in the desert – a prayer for the dying his mother taught him, to entrust them to Ar-Amu. Memory doesn’t understand the words, but the intent is clear, and the cadence soothes him. His breathing eases, stops. Anakin’s hitches.

“I’m sorry”, he sobs, curling over him. “I’m sorry.”

It takes him a moment to gather himself enough to gently close Memory’s eyes, and replace the cracked helmet over his head. The ships are wrecked, he won’t get anything from them. He needs to find the closest inhabited place and see where he can contact the GAR. Hoping he isn’t on a Separatist planet. There shouldn’t have been one, not where they were, but something happened and now he has no idea where he is. The planet is occupied, the Force tells him as much, but it is nothing familiar.

Slowly, he gets to his feet, takes stock of his injuries. His left shoulder is dislocated and his mechno arm sparkling worryingly, several of his ribs are at least cracked, he has a busted lip and a sluggishly bleeding gash to his forehead. A few bumps to his head, but his legs are in working order and he has his fighting arm. His lightsabre is, surprisingly, intact, and he doesn’t hesitate long before taking Memory’s blaster. It’s not like he will use it, now, and Anakin learnt not to discount a good blaster when he was still on Tatooine. His Master might find them uncivilized, but they’re plenty useful when for some reason you can’t use your lightsabre.

He picks a direction where he feels the Force vaguely broiling, which means there are people, salvages what he can from both ships’ emergency supplies, hoists Memory’s corpse onto his shoulders – he is _not_ leaving him out there – and starts walking. Given the sun’s position and the speed at which the planet rotates, they crashed in the very early morning, barely after sun-up. It gives him a day of walking before night, if he can remain upward that long.

He pauses around midday to eat and take some rest, not allowing himself too many pauses when he has no idea where he is and what the wildlife and inhabitants are like. Memory is heavy on his shoulders and for a moment, he contemplates burying him here, in the peace of the forest. The Force, however, nudges him – not here, not yet. Taking one last gulp of water, he wobbles to his feet again, charges Memory on his shoulders again, and resumes walking.

He walks for two hours before he finally happens upon sentient life – and of course, it is in the form of blaster-fire. He carefully moves forward to see what is going on: Mandalorians, fighting against Mandalorians. What else is new. As he wonders if he should intervene, the Force replies with a loud and emphatic yes, bathing one man and the group with him gold. He puts Memory down against a tree and stabs another stim-shot into his body, shaking off its effects before he grips his lightsabre and throws himself in the battle.

_“Jetii!”_ several voices cry out as heads and limbs fly around him and he propels Mandalorian warriors backward.

The golden man uses the opening he gave him, and the tide is turning in his favour when one of the golden group comes out and there is the slime of the Dark Side clinging to him – he isn’t Force-sensitive, but he is a wretched individual, and Anakin nearly gags at the sight of that armour.

His hand starts trembling, a haze of rage and skin-crawling humiliation falling over him. He’d know that _beskar’gam_ anywhere, and it makes his stomach curl in disgust.

_“You”_ , he snarls, and curls his fingers, Force-choking the Mandalorian.

He feels his alarm as he drags him towards him, stalking forward at the same time. A blaster-shot hits him in his already damaged shoulder, and he hisses, his focus shattered for a second and _Montross_ already aiming his blasters at him. He screams in rage and feels it pour out of him, curling around his limbs as if to shield him from the pain.

“MONTROSS”, he yells, and everything seems to still for a second. “ _Tooska chai mani_”, he adds, baring his teeth, shaking with hatred.  
“Come here, _jetii aruetii_ ”, Montross replies, clearly eager for a fight.  
“Fall _back_ , Montross”, the golden man says again, “that _Jetii_ clearly isn’t in his right mind. You’ll end up dead.”  
“Nah, the Jedi are nothing but worthless _cowards_ ”, Montross sneers.  
“Montross”, the golden man calls in warning, something tight in his voice.

There are murmurs around them. Anakin doesn’t care – he only remembers the cold metal of an armour against his skin and his mother’s tears, her pleas that went ignored. He holds his ‘sabre pointed towards Montross.

“The _coward_ ”, he sneers, “is the one who buys a slave’s time to satisfy himself”, he says, and the murmurs grow. “The _coward_ ”, he yells, and his voice cracks, “is the one who ignores a mother’s _begging_ and beds her _child_ instead.” The silence is deafening, and he realizes distantly that he is crying. “The _coward_ ”, he adds quietly, his voice shaking, “is the one who dares to touch a child like you did to me.”  
“I have never seen you in my life”, Montross scoffs, but Anakin can feel his worry for the way his allies have fallen still.

Anakin bares his teeth.

“I will not let you live and go on like this”, he adds, holding onto his control by the skin of his teeth. “You won’t touch another. I swear to the gods and to the Force, _you won’t_.”  
“Montross”, one says, “what is he talking about?”  
“He’s delusional”, Montross replies. “Must have mistaken me for someone else.”  
“I’ve heard rumours”, another says. “Everyone thought it was Death Watch. It was _you?”_  
“ _Jetii_ ” someone calls, and Anakin jerks his head but doesn’t turn his attention away from Montross. “Do you have a proof?”

Anakin shifts his grip on his lightsabre. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore now that it has poured out without him being able to do anything, but if they let him get to Montross unhindered… His shoulder his throbbing and he is seconds away from falling. He just wants this to be over.

“He has Jaig eyes tattooed just over his crotch”, he finally says.

Almost adds, “and a large scar on his right thigh”, but the Force gently shushes him, and he feels himself gasping.

“That doesn’t prove anything”, Montross protests. “Are you all being serious right now?”  
“We’ve all seen that tattoo”, someone replies curtly. “He recognized your armour, described your tattoo.”  
“ _Osik_ , but look at him, he’s almost still a child!”

Golden Man shifts, burning even brighter in the Force, and Anakin raises his hand. Montross’ helmet lifts with it, leaving the man’s face bare, sneer obvious, and Anakin nearly shakes under that cold gaze, his stomach twisting farther into knots. His head explodes with the blaster-shot, the Golden Man standing behind him with his blaster raised.

Anakin takes a shuddering breath, and then another, before retching violently. He deactivates his lightsabre and hooks it to his belt, shaking with all his limbs, and bows to the Mandalorian.

“Thank you”, he says, and turns on his heels.  
“Wait-”

He goes on, back to Memory’s white armoured painted with blue, shaking still, and sniffs back. He needs to find somewhere else to ask for help. Stiffly, he hoists Memory back onto his shoulder, which screams in pain when he jolts it. The Mandalorians have gathered and are discussing over their comms. Golden Man looks at him, and- He is grateful that the Golden Man killed Montross for him. He couldn’t have done it without it being revenge or hatred. He already knows the taste of _that_.

The word tilts on its axis as he passes the group, and he feels himself falling. And then, nothing.


	2. Jaster Mereel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a curse the Jedi have. "May you live in interesting times." Jaster had never understood why this was a curse and not a blessing until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a lot in one sitting last time so I got this out quite faster than I expected.  
> Also, there is now a [Jango/Anakin Discord Server](https://discord.gg/PrZ6FP7RKq) (18+ only).

Jaster only felt the _ka’ra_ ’s guiding hand thrice in his life. Once, when he took up the mantel of _Mand’alor_. Twice, when he met Jango and consequently adopted him. Thrice, today, looking at a young, desperate _Jetii_ that shouldn’t even have been standing, who had yet wiped out a good chunk of Death Watch commandos, and who was ready to fight Montross. _He says the truth_ , the _ka’ra_ had told him, and Jaster had shot. There was no honourable death for that kind of _demagolka_ , no pyre to burn his body on. They would strip him of his armour and melt it, and give his weapons to another, more worthy than him.

The _Jetii_ bows, as though he isn’t half-dead on his feet, and thanks him, and Jaster wants to say – _I’m sorry_.

“Wait-” Myles intervenes.  
“Let him”, Jaster calls over internal comms. “He’s running on fumes, we’ll pick him up the moment he falls. In the meantime, see to our wounded and gather our dead. I don’t want to linger here.”

They watch as the boy lifts someone else they hadn’t noticed, in white-and-blue armour, onto his shoulder. How long as he been walking like this? How heavily injured is his companion? Where does he come from? What happened?

He meets his eyes through his visor, and, as though in slow motion, the young Jedi collapses, his companion falling over him in the process. His men hurry up to them – like it or not, the _Jetii_ saved their lives today. Jango turns the body in armour over, pausing briefly at the strange sight of the Mandalorian-style of it, and carefully lifts the cracked helmet.

“This man is dead, _buir_ ”, he says, shocked. “He’s been dead for hours, he’s going cold already."  
_“Haar’chak”_ , Dahl says, “he’s also your spitting portrait!”

Jaster nods as Mevan and Kerri take the young _Jetii_ aboard to treat his wounds, and goes to the dead man in the white armour. His hairs stand up on the back of his neck and on his arms at the eery sight of that face – he does look like Jango, if he were a few years older. His head is shaven clean and there are tattoos all over his scalp, disappearing under his thermal suit. Tattoos that don’t make any sense – Lout, Berry, Loudmouth, Rex, Appo, Cody, Bly, Crossbones, CT-3388, CT-1015, CT-3255, Wolffe…

“Put him in stasis”, Jaster says. “I want to know what this means, and it is also likely that the _Jetii_ wanted to give him proper funeral rites.”

It takes close to two hours before he can go down to the small med-bay of his ship, where the Jedi is laid, the _baar’ur_ still working over him.

“What’s your diagnostic?”  
“We almost lost him”, Mevan says, frowning. “He used so many stim-shots, he neared a heart-attack. Wounds lead me to believe he crashed, there was heavy trauma. I don’t know if it’s a _Jetii_ thing or just him, _Mand’alor_. If it’s a Jedi thing, I understand why the bastards have such a rep.” He taps on a datapad. “We did bacta injections to reduce his fractures and I reset his shoulder. He’ll have one hell of a headache, but he’ll be fine. Oh, and here, you probably should have it”, he says, handing him the Jedi’s lightsabre.

Jaster takes it and clips it to his belt, leaning over the Jedi. Not screaming in rage or fighting like a demon, his face smoothed in sleep, he really looks young. Jaster is even surprised he doesn’t have a _jeti’ika’s_ braid.

“What more do you have?”  
“Originated from Tatooine and likely lived a few years there, he has immune defences for some diseases and contaminants you can only find there. A broad range of vaccines, which seems logical considering his occupation. Old fractures, the most recent ones were well treated, and a surgical scar at the base of his skull. I think he really was a slave, a child slave, before he was induced into the Jedi Order. He should be around nineteen.”  
“You’re making that face”, Jaster says.  
“What face?”  
“The face you make when you’ve found something that interests you”, Jaster snorts.  
“Well, there are two things. First, look at that”, Mevan says, picking the Jedi’s right hand, which had been gloved. “Have you ever seen a prosthetic this good? If the Jedi have stuff this advanced, I want it. Seriously. There are nerve endings in it, I had to deactivate them. However, I am not qualified to repair it or even take it off, and it is seriously damaged.” He puts the hand back down. “The wound is recent enough, I’d say less than six months… and caused by a lightsabre.”  
“A _Jetii_ took off his arm?” Jaster growls.  
“Or a _dar’jetii_. We can’t know until he tells us.” Mevan smirks. “But! This is all nothing compared to this: his genetic profile is an absolute _mess_ , I had never seen something like this, it’s fascinating. You see this? Those are the markers for the matrilineal genealogy. Perfectly normal, human baseline. I’m Zabrak but the functioning is similar, and those are Kerri’s results. Now, look at this.”  
“There is nothing in his chart”, Jaster notices. “What is it?”  
“The sire’s line. According to those results, this boy doesn’t have one.”

Jaster stills.

“What?”  
“Yeah, I know it’s a _biological impossibility_ ”, the medic says, grinning. “For all we know, either this boy spontaneously appeared in his mother’s womb, or we are in presence of an alien species unknown to this day.”  
“Wonderful”, Jaster groans. “Will it cause problems to treat him?”  
“Doesn’t seem likely”, Mevan replies. “His mother’s human DNA is dominant, apparently. Now, he’ll stay unconscious for another two days at least, so the bacta has time to act.”  
“That gives us time to get back to base”, Jaster nods, thinking about the mess waiting for him.

Two days seem almost a bit short to do damage control after the clusterfuck of Korda 6. The door slides open, and Jango walks in. He thankfully wasn’t hurt in the battle, but Jaster shudders to think about could have happened. They all nearly died there.

“Jango?”  
“ _Buir_ ”, he replies, and a blush graces his cheeks, making Jaster’s eyebrows rise. “I… I just wanted to know how the _Jetii_ was doing”, Jango replies, ignoring how his face has darkened.

Jaster glances at the _jetii_. He is young, handsome, and Jango is at that age. He shouldn’t be surprised that a warrior that strong got his son’s attention.

“He’ll live”, Jaster replies, “but he won’t wake for another two days.”  
“He saved our lives”, Jango says, eyes switching between him and the unconscious Jedi. “He didn’t know Montross was there, he only noticed him later, and yet he fought to defend us, when he was already so badly injured.”  
“I wish to know his reasons just as much as you do”, Jaster replies, “but we won’t get any answer until he wakes.”

Jango nods, but there is something fragile in his expression, and Jaster brings their foreheads together.

“I know”, he breathes. “I was touched by his pain too.”

Jango nods very lightly against him, unmoored. His instincts insist he protects the sleeping _Jetii_ , and he is very inclined to listen to them.

*

Funnily enough, the first sense to come back for a Jedi is their sense of the Force. Even before waking up fully, Anakin knows he suffered a bad case of Force-exhaustion if merely touching the Force is this painful. He was rather reckless – he always is. Carefully, he pulls back some of the strong shields he keeps on his bond with Obi-Wan. The presence reaching back is strange – brighter than usual, worried for him still, and he sends his Master the soothing sense of his own well-being.

His eyes blink open, and he recognizes the sanitized smell of a medical bay, but it’s not one he is familiar with. His light touch against the Force told him he is not alone, and he turns his head, which throbs at the move. There’s a boy sitting at his bedside, reading from a pad. He frowns. Clones are not sent out so young, and this one is clearly a cadet.

“You’re too young to be here”, he slurs, frowning.

The boy jumps, startled, his ‘pad nearly clattering to the ground. Anakin instinctively throws his presence out to catch it, and yanks it back immediately, burnt. It falls into the cadet’s hand, who stares at him with wide, dark eyes. He smiles a little.

“At ease, cadet”, he rasps, wincing and closing his eyes.  
“Here, this should help with the headache”, the cadet says, gently raising him and holding a cup to his lips.

It tastes awful, but Anakin thankfully feels the headache recede, and he sighs.

“Thank you”, he breathes. “What happened?”  
“We got you aboard after you collapsed”, the boy answers, “and treated your wounds.”

Anakin frowns. He doesn’t remember, his memory is fuzzy. Why did he collapse? Slowly, he unwinds his memory, going through the trap and everything that happened until he lost consciousness carrying Memory. He gulps.

“How did the Republic find me?” he says. “The distress beacons were destroyed on both ships when we crashed, and I had no way to contact you.”  
“You are on Mandalore”, the cadet replies carefully, “this is the True Mandalorians’ HQ. The Republic didn’t find you, you collapsed after turning the tide of our battle against Death Watch.”

Suddenly, the memory comes back, and Anakin finds himself trying to empty his stomach in the basin thankfully attached to his bed. _Montross_. He never looked for him – revenge was not the Jedi way – but he had hoped the man had died. His fists clench with the memory of his confrontation. Breathing deeply, he looks back up at the cadet, and frowns.

“Are you a deserter?” he asks.  
“What? No, why would you think that?” the cadet replies, looking shocked.  
“You’re not on Kamino, and not within Republic territory”, Anakin replies. “And you’re clearly a clone.”

The cadet’s shock rings through the Force with so much strength that Anakin feels it even with his Force-exhaustion. The door chooses this moment to open, and a man walks in. He is clearly Mandalorian, wearing armour, but that’s about all Anakin knows. The rift between Mandalorians and Jedi is known.

“I’m glad to see you awake”, the man says, stepping in and laying a hand on the cadet’s shoulder.

He has a strong jaw, dark skin slightly lighter than the cadet’s, black hair already greying at the temples, and a pleasant face. Curious, Anakin brushes the Force, unable to resist its call.

“You’re the Golden Man”, he blurts out.

The man rises an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaster Mereel, of clan Mereel, and _Mand’alor_.”

Anakin frowns. He has heard the name Mereel before, where was it-

“Mereel? Like Skirata’s son? And what’s a _Mand’alor?”_

Jaster and the cadet exchange a look.

“ _Mand’alor_ is the name given to the Mandalorian leader”, the cadet answers.

This time, Anakin’s frowns harder. People think what they think, but he definitely studied Mandalore’s current political landscape and there is no _Mand’alor_ – there hasn’t been one in years, in fact.

“I thought the Duchess led Mandalore, since the war ended”, he carefully says. “Since the New Mandalorians didn’t want that name for their leader?”  
“What are you talking about?” the cadet blurts out. “The war certainly hasn’t ended, and even less with a New Mandalorian victory!”  
“I meant no disrespect”, Anakin replies carefully, and cautiously starts to manoeuvre himself to sit up. “My lessons on Mandalore were a while ago, I’ll admit.”  
“You stepped into our battle with some panache, for one who doesn’t know a thing about Mandalorian politics”, Jaster replies with an amused snort – not fully amused, though, but cautious.  
“The Force told me to”, he replies simply. “It was quite intent I make sure you live.”

His declaration is met by considering silence.

“You know another Mereel?” the cadet finally asks.  
“Know is a big word”, Anakin says, leaning back into the pillows the cadet swiftly arranged for him. “I met him once.” He tries to move, but his flesh arm is in a sling, and his prosthetic is… “Aw, _poodoo_ , it’s fritzed again”, he says, looking at it.  
“Our medic deactivated the nerve endings, but he couldn’t get it off of you”, Jaster says.  
“You wouldn’t believe how many times the Seppies stole my arm”, Anakin grouses. “It’s shot now anyway.”  
“The Seppies?” Jaster asks. “What… are those?”

Anakin stares back at him.

“I know Mandalore declared neutrality, but you can’t have missed the whole Galactic war? _Especially_ with a cadet by your side?”

Jaster’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“You must have hit your head harder than we thought. There is no Galactic war, and Jango is not a ‘cadet’, he is my son.”

Anakin feels his head turning for a moment, as the implications start to pile up. The Mandalorian Civil war not yet ended. True Mandalorians, of which he never heard. No Galactic War. And a clone who apparently isn’t one… He gulps, tries to focus, and then looks at the cadet again. It would be easier if his whole meeting with Jango Fett hadn’t been on Geonosis, both times fighting for his life and Padmé’s.

“Are you…” Force, but he will sound crazy. “A-are you Jango Fett?”  
“Yes? How do you know me though?”

Anakin starts laughing, staring at him. It’s purely hysterical, which both Jaster and Jango can see.

*

“Oh Force. This is a disaster” the _Jetii_ says. “What year is this?”  
“948, according to the Ruusan Reformation calendar”, Jaster replies. “I should call the medic.”  
“I’m fine”, the boy says, “I’m fine- I’m not even born yet”, he says, cackling again, and this time, Jaster calls Mevan in emergency.

The medic gives the still cackling _Jetii_ a soporific, quickly sending him back to sleep, muttering under his breath the whole time.

“He’s unhinged”, Jaster finally says. _“Shukyc buy’ce”_, he adds, and to his surprise, Mevan shakes his head.

“I was on my way here to warn you”, he says, explaining how he got there so fast. “I’ve been checking again and again… Mad as it will sound, I think our boy here is a time-traveller.”

Jaster stills and stares at him.

“Run that by me again?”

Mevan breathes.

“I think”, he says, “that this _Jetii_ has travelled through time.”  
“Mevan, time-travel is a thing of legends. People don’t just _travel through time_.”  
“Well maybe they do!” Mevan hisses. “Listen. He has vaccines that don’t exist yet. The blaster he had on him, which I think belonged to the dead man he was carrying, _doesn’t exist yet_. And his prosthetic? I told you how advanced it was. And I heard him. He asked you the date, and said that he ‘wasn’t born yet’.”

Jaster opens his mouth to protest, but Jango speaks first.

“He called me ‘cadet’ the whole time, like he knew me… or at least, like he thought he knew me. He said I was too young.”

Mevan nods.

“And! The pieces of armour he wore. I did a quick search, and you know what? The Jedi put their armour down with the Ruusan Reformation, when they disbanded their army. No Jedi wears armour.”

Jaster really, _really_ doesn’t like how the pieces keep adding up and slot together seamlessly. He likes even less the picture it paints, when he puts everything together. A Mandalorian Civil War that ends up in New Mandalorian victory. Jedi gone to fight in a Galactic War. _Verde_ as young as the _jetii_ laying in bed, and the soldier still in a stasis field.

_“Osik”_ , he swears, and drags a hand over his face. “How long will he sleep?”  
“An hour, maybe less”, the medic replies.  
“ _Buir_ ”, Jango says after a silence. “That dead man… Who looks so much like me. The _jetii_ thought I was a clone.”

Jaster flinches and Mevan hisses through his teeth.

“ _Mand’alor_ ”, the _baar’ur_ says. “If you’ll give me the authorization, I’ll run a sample comparison between their DNAs.”  
“Do it”, Jaster says, his voice hard, hands clenches into fists.

It makes him reconsider what the Jedi apparently consider a curse, that seemed so strange to him the first time he heard it. “May you live in interesting times.” He doesn’t know who cursed him thus, but they can get karked. May you live in interesting times indeed – “may you meet an enemy time-traveller who will kark up your second and save your life, bearing news of a galaxy-wide war”.

His gaze lands on the boy, and he sighs, brushing a lock of fine hair out of his face. It’s still short, barely out of a _jeti’ika_ cut. He doesn’t even know his name. it feels strange, that he has no name to call this kid when he knows so many things about him already. He’s not to blame for the current mess – whenever he comes from, it was a mess. But, _ka’ra_ , Jaster does not relish the absolute shit this has stirred. He needs answers, answers that only the _jeti’ika_ has.

And given what he just learnt, the boy is likely to have a fit when he finally processes what happened. Really, Jaster says kriff whoever cursed him to live in interesting times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ka'ra_ : the council of the dead Mand'alore. Can also mean stars.  
>  _demagolka_ : a real-life monster.  
>  _haar'chak_ : damn it.  
>  _baar’ur_ : medic  
>  _dar'jetii_ : Sith/Darksider, lit. no longer a Jedi.  
>  _Shukyc buy’ce_ : Completely mad, a lunatic. Lit. Broken helmet. (I made that one up)  
>  _verde_ : soliders.  
>  _Osik_ : shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Recurring words:  
>  _jetii_ : Jedi  
>  _beskar'gam_ : mandalorian armour  
>  _buir_ : parent
> 
> _Tooska chai mani_ : (huttese) A curse involving the insulted person's mother and a Tusken Raider's chief.  
>  _jetii aruetii_ : Jedi traitor.


End file.
